


that old feeling

by jamesbuchanan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbuchanan/pseuds/jamesbuchanan
Summary: It started in 1942.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miraclemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraclemoon/gifts).



> ok so this was super fun to write and it's also a cute holiday gift for sarah. merry christmas!!

It started in 1942, when a draft letter came in the mail addressed to James Barnes. Time stopped, tears were fought back, a lump was stuck in the throat, fear crept up the spine. Then, it seemed, the world had it in for him. Then, it seemed, he’d been sent a death certificate straight from the reaper himself.

Then, he knew, he was doing something for the good of the country.

Then, he was just a kid at war. Twenty-four years old and no helping the heart that kept him back in Brooklyn. 

The letter almost sent him running. It sure as hell kept him out of the apartment for at least three days, going home with a buddy from the docks one night. He hid out in South Bronx. A hiding place unfamiliar to the one he’d grown accustomed to: a spitfire soul with a stubborn attitude to match. Bucky came back, but the letter didn’t. It is an unfound document, one that Bucky personally watched burn over the stove after he’d read it out to himself a few times, committing the words to memory. An unfound document, because it never ended up in Steve’s hands.

So when Steve finally found out there was no avoiding it anymore. There they were in the middle of their apartment, having it out with each other over something they couldn't control. It wasn’t so much an argument over why Bucky got selected and not him though. What it was, was an argument over how Bucky couldn’t just be up front with him, how he practically went fucking AWOL, how he showed up reeking of nicotine just past midnight when he finally made it back to Brooklyn. (And afterwards, it became a somber realization that for the first time in their history, they’d be away from each other for a long while.)

It stops in 1944, by a slip of the hand, a slip of the body, and a horror to the eyes. Bucky falls, Steve watches, and somehow, a piece of the both of them die harshly with the other. Two young kids turned old by war and death. Seventy years later, when Steve wakes up, the world is still muted and dull. Bucky’s death feels like just yesterday for months on end.

Two years later there is a museum exhibit. Two years later there is a ghost of a man haunting a building dedicated to a hero that Steve Rogers no longer believes he is. With each visit, nineteen-forty-four is revisited: the smiles, the laughs, the longing gazes (the ones Steve never noticed until now), and the twisted nightmare of chilly mountain air and a haunting scream that only gets louder and louder each time the memory is replayed.

It starts again in 2016, when there is a man tiptoeing around a residence unofficially addressed to James Barnes. Here, the voice of an old friend rings loud in Steve’s ears. Under his breath he names the things the voice says: _name, rank, serial number…_

Here, James Barnes recreates a memory he cannot remember much. Except this time South Bronx is the one place he cannot run to.

Do you know me?

_You’re Steve; I read about you in a museum._

Thing is: Bucky remembers. It comes in small fragments, it comes out of order, but it comes. It was Steve who read about Bucky in a museum, if anything to keep his sanity; to remind himself that Bucky was once real and so was he, and their lives were not some reverie he woke up from abruptly. He's memorized Bucky’s plaque word for word and picked out each discrepancy in the writing. (There’s three.) But Steve knows Bucky, and once, during a time in which he thought he was doing something good for the country for the second time in his life, Bucky had said he knew Steve too.

You pulled me from the river, why?

_I don’t know._

However, while the words pass through Bucky’s lips, there is a small voice that sits in a comfortable chair in his brain, pulls out a few sheets of paper, and reads off the perfected paragraphs on why Bucky pulled Steve from the river. While the reading goes on, and while Steve demands an answer in that not so demanding way, Bucky remembers:

A small, skinny boy with his legs pushed between the rails on a fire escape in Brooklyn.

A blonde boy with full, pink lips leaving a dark hickey between his thighs.

A stubborn, angelic boy sitting at the kitchen table with an empty cup of coffee next to him, sketching the neighbors clothes line through the window.

It looks nice; happy; comfortable. In these flashes, Bucky can see himself. He sees a charming smile, one worn by someone in love. He sees two human hands reaching out to rub at the bony shoulders in his vision. He sees the man that used to wear his skin, the one with bright eyes and wide smile.

It also comes to an end in 2016. When it’s all over, he’s given a choice. Bucky can’t quite remember the last time he’s had one of those. Jokingly, he thinks, maybe not since forty-four. His choice? To can go back into cryo and hope for a miracle; for a chance to live without ten words awakening an animal he was not meant to keep caged away, an animal he was not meant to ever become. Or he can walk away; live a normal life. This strikes a memory. It brings him back to the front lines, to being carted away to a lab table for experimentation, to standing in the company office staring down honorable discharge papers and the promise of a Purple Heart.

I could have went home, Bucky thinks. It’s selfish, greedy, and true. He would have been better off leaving when he had the chance but he knows why he didn’t. In the alternate ending, he walks away too early.

In the true ending, he walks away. In the epilogue, Steve does too.

When it starts again it’s mere months later, but it’s not the same as last time. The final chapter closes and the epilogue begins. It starts with the small apartment on the side of Brooklyn where they grew up. It’s tranquil, most of the neighbors are elderly, and there’s one teenager living on the floor above them with their mother. Steve silently promises to do right by Bucky. So he tries to do all the right things: puts them in a familiar setting, gives Bucky his space when he needs it, tells him stories when he wants them, and leaves himself wondering day in and day out if he’ll ever be able to pay Bucky back for the way he took care of him all those years ago. 

Once more, it is Steve and Bucky; just like the good old days, but with a new, unidentifiable element added to it. They fall into routine, they fall into each other, and all those years they missed begin to feel like a minuscule gap in the span of their history. Slowly, but surely, they begin to feel like the twenty-something year olds they were back in forty-one. A broken head and a broken heart begin to mend themselves whole again. 

In the routine they build around themselves one thing becomes clear: Bucky hates early mornings and Steve loves morning runs. For the first week, Steve leaves for an hour and a half each morning excluding Sunday to go jogging, Bucky meeting him in the shower when he gets home. The second week he gets through all the way to Friday. Saturday morning he could hardly get his sweats out of the dresser before Bucky dragged him back into bed, chuckled sleepily, and said: “You don’t have any more muscle to gain. Just stay and sleep with me a little while longer.” All Steve could do was smile, place a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, and curl back up against him. And thus ended Saturday morning runs.

So this Saturday is the same as any other. However, Bucky sometimes tends to wake during the time when Steve would leave for his run, so with the extra hour and a half he has between then and when he pretends to wake up with Steve, he lies awake and thinks. The more time he spends with Steve and their old surroundings, the more calm he finds himself.

He finds it incredibly strange how things played out for him. How one moment he was a man, a soldier the next; and now he feels he can be a man, a human, once again. He feels like he’s died twice—he read about it in the book he bought last month, second deaths and such. Bucky wishes he never resurrected the first time. In a dream, the hazy, fuzzy moments right between sleep and not, he can feel himself sitting on a windowsill, blowing smoke out the window, and soft jazz music filtering its way into the bedroom to meet his ears as he smokes. This feeling is never too far away, all he has to do is sink back into somewhere comfortable and let himself drift back into the memory.

But he’s not selfish.

Next to him is Steve, the one person in the entire universe that would never let him go. The one person in his life that just wouldn’t shake him. Next to him, Steve sleeps soundly, peacefully; a quiet smile on his lips, chest rising and falling calmly as he rests.

Sometimes, just a look at him can trigger a memory in Bucky’s head. That’s how it happened the first time, and that’s how it seems to happen every other time since. When he’s up at this hour and not trying to slip back into the skin of James Barnes from 1940, he’s stitching together pieces of memories of the man sleeping next to him.

Bucky reaches out and traces a thumb across Steve’s eyebrow. He doesn’t stir, but if there’s one thing Bucky’s picked up on, it’s that Steve feels at such an ease around him that he hardly ever flinches away from contact that’s from Bucky. It’s a sad, yet sentimental feeling that fills Bucky’s chest when he thinks of it. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead.

His hand reaches into Steve’s hair, his fingers carding through. He smiles at the way Steve seems to sink into it, and briefly the familiarity of the blissed out look on Steve’s face becomes clear in Bucky’s mind. He’s made Steve look like that before, except during those times he wasn’t sleeping. Bucky’s not so sure he’s sleeping now either, probably somewhere between awake and not, trying to hold on to the last few strands of dreamland he’s got left.

“You look so at peace like this, y’know?” Bucky talks to no one in particular, just fills the quiet with a voice that is starting to sound gentle; as it should. “I know you never used to sleep so good whether it was because you were sick or during the war—I don’t think anyone slept so good then. But you look calm, at ease, just as you should.” He huffs out a laugh. “Practically a damn angel.” He watches the smile curl up Steve’s lips at the words, and Bucky knows he’s awake.

“How much longer are you gonna let me attempt to pour my heart out before you tell me you’re actually awake? ‘Cause I’m just getting to the good stuff.”

Steve grins, eyes slowly opening, pushing himself in closer towards Bucky. “Feel free to continue.” He presses a kiss to the hollow of Bucky’s throat. 

Bucky pinches him, chuckling when he jumps. “Punk,” he mumbles.

A moment later Steve says, “Used to say the same thing about you.” He hums against Bucky’s skin, dragging lazy kisses across his throat. He’s sleep warm, continuing to snuggle in closer, hooking a leg over Bucky’s side. This is the best part of having Steve sleep in with him; he wakes up slowly and softly and Bucky gets to watch each moment.

“What’s that?”

“When we were younger,” Steve begins, “those few couple of weekends you were able to sleep in when there was no work? Christ, you looked amazing. Never really got the sleep you deserved.” He continues to kiss along Bucky’s throat, making his way down to a collarbone; the junction between neck and shoulder; scarred skin from a choice Bucky wasn’t able to make. He kisses each spot, and with each press of lips, Bucky feels like he’s floating. 

“Get back up here,” he says, voice rough. Steve brings his mouth up to meet Bucky’s, kissing him slow and sweet. They makeout lazily, languid drags of lips and warm tongues, and Bucky feels like he could stay like this forever.

Somehow, Steve finds his way on top of Bucky, a leg on either side of his hips. He leans back down to kiss Bucky breathless, leaving a trail of small kiss up and down Bucky’s chest. For the short seconds Bucky’s mind blanks out from Steve’s mouth, Steve’s moved all the way down his body to sit between his legs.

Fingers curl into the waistband of Bucky’s boxer briefs and that’s when he comes back to himself. With a quiet chuckle, he pulls Steve’s hand away, lacing their fingers together. 

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he says in response to Steve’s pout.

Steve half-heartedly rolls his eyes. “You’re a buzzkill.”

“But you love me.”

Something in Steve’s eyes goes soft. “Yeah,” he says, “I do.”

Bucky can do nothing else but pull Steve back in and kiss him hard. He knows he’s staring like a love-stupid sap when he pulls away but he can’t help it. “Come on,” he finally says, swinging his legs over the bed, “I’m hungry. Lets get some breakfast first and then you can do whatever you want.” Steve smirks and follows him out of bed.

After going to the bathroom and pulling on a t-shirt, he makes his way out into the kitchen. Steve’s put on a sweater and socks and he’s at the stove spooning coffee grinds into a filter. Bucky hears the ticking of the radiator in the next room and feels the cold tile beneath his feet. He wishes he put on socks. He hops up onto the counter and watches Steve work.

“Coffee should be done soon,” he says. Bucky hums in reply, pulling Steve into his space when he moves away from the stove. “Breakfast is on you,” Steve says.

“Aw, c’mon Stevie, ain’t you gonna cook for me?”

“Hell no, I just make the coffee.” As he says it, he moves towards the refrigerator to pull out the carton of eggs. “The rest is all yours,” he says, gesturing at the eggs.

Bucky hops off the counter and searches for a pan. “You’re such a punk.”

“And you’re a jerk,” Steve retorts.

They’ve got bacon, eggs, and coffee made not so long later.

Bucky pours sugar into his cup and begins to stir. “Did you always make coffee like this? It’s good.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Nah, I always managed to get grinds at the bottom each time I tried to make it. That’s why you always did it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, piecing the memory together, “that sounds about right.” He pushes his chair back and stands. “Are you done?”

"Mhm." Steve reaches for his coffee, finishing off the last of it. “Now hurry up, I wanna finish what I started." He looks over at Bucky and grins.

Bucky collects their dishes and Steve follows him to the sink with their cups, setting them down to be washed later. When he turns towards Steve, he’s looking at Bucky like he’s ready to jump his bones. Bucky gestures in the direction of their bedroom. “Lead the way, doll.”

Steve grins and pulls him in close to kiss him before taking his hand and walking him back to their room. He gets Bucky settled back under the covers fairly easily, waiting for his back to hit the mattress before climbing up on top of him, a leg on either side of him, leaning down to kiss him soft and sweet. Bucky goes easily, opening his mouth to him and running a hand up and down his side.

Soon enough Steve’s kisses have get sloppy and his body’s moves lower. Bucky instinctually spreads his legs apart, feeling Steve move on top of him and scoot down, settling between his legs. There’s a quick pause of silence, absolutely no movement and Bucky thinks he’s dreamed it all, but then there’s a warm mouth on the inside of his thigh and everything clicks back into place again.

A noise bubbles up the back of his throat, and a moan passes through his lips. He reaches down for a hand, Steve’s hand, sliding his palm up Steve’s wrist until their fingers meet and lace together. He squeezes tight. He’s not dreaming. 

“Keep going,” he says softly. His eyes slip shut.

Ever so slowly, Bucky comes undone, and when Steve comes back up to kiss him at the end of it all his skin is buzzing. By the end of it all they’re both feeling euphoric.

In the moments before sleep greets them once more, Steve curls into him in a way that can take him back decades or weeks ago. Bucky welcomes the contact, brushing a thumb across the nape of his neck as he settles in closer. Steve lets out a tired yawn and Bucky kisses his forehead.

“Getting sleepy on me?”

“No way,” but it’s a lie and moments later Steve’s gone boneless and his breathing’s gotten quieter.

Bucky sighs blissfully to himself.

Outside, the wind bustles through the city, awaiting the next snowfall. People cross streets and drive cars and pull open doors to convenience stores. Inside, the radiator ticks and the soft cotton of Steve’s socks rub against Bucky’s ankles. He takes in the sight of the man in front of him, catches his own reflection in the way Steve grips him tighter, and realizes how far he’s come. No dream, just reality. He is the final chapter and Steve is his epilogue— the one that never seems to end.

The warm, sleepy feeling radiating off of Steve pulls at him, and just then, he lets go.

He’s here. He’s home.


End file.
